


of winds and window flowers

by salmon289



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-War, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26609464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salmon289/pseuds/salmon289
Summary: "He approached her bed cautiously, as though to sit by her side, but he halted a foot away, shifting from side to side. She could see his face more clearly now, and there was a studied blankness there that seemed, to her, to hide a swirling confusion, a bewildered discomfort at being here, with her, in this moment, suffocating under the weight of their history and things that could have been."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	of winds and window flowers

**Author's Note:**

> longtime fan of this ship, first time writer. not sure if this is a oneshot or if I'm ambitious enough to flesh this out into its own work, but this scene wouldn't leave my head, and I had to get it out. hope you enjoy

The soft yellow light from a few well-placed charms gave the room a warm, homey feeling completely at odds with the sterile air and scratchy, starched sheets. Lying in the St. Mungo’s bed, Hermione noted, not for the first time, how quiet the hospital was, even though it was only 7 pm. With the majority of its activities powered by magic, St. Mungo’s lacked the clicking of a keyboard at a nurse’s station or the low whine of a ventilator.

In the silence, she heard the approach of distant footsteps. It was the cadence of a stride she knew well, that she could pick out of a crowd of a hundred students, that would make a particular creak on the hardwood floor of her kitchen.

Her head felt light. She couldn’t think. _Who had told him?_ She wasn’t ready. _Could have been anyone._ The footsteps grew closer. _Is he angry?_ She struggled to sit up. _Must explain–_

He stood in the doorway. The muted light of her room wasn’t enough to clearly illuminate his face against the harsher light of the hallway. She stared at him, at the features she couldn’t quite make out but that she already knew by heart anyway.

A few tense breaths. Then, “May I come in?”

She nodded in response.

She could tell from his controlled, neutral tone that his shields were up. She hated it when he Occluded, but she couldn’t really fault him at this moment. They were both hurting, both unwilling to show it, to even name it to themselves because to do so would hurt even more.

He approached her bed cautiously, as though to sit by her side, but he halted a foot away, shifting from side to side. She could see his face more clearly now, and there was a studied blankness there that seemed, to her, to hide a swirling confusion, a bewildered discomfort at being here, with her, in this moment, suffocating under the weight of their history and things that could have been.

How had it all come to this?

He had always carried a stillness within himself, a stillness embedded deeply into his psyche and that bled out into every graceful gesture. Where she was all frenetic movement, busily ticking off one task on her checklist and rushing to complete the next, he was precise, conservative. Yet right now, he was fidgety and she, well, she felt a quiet emptiness inside.

She couldn’t seem to speak. He couldn’t seem to decide where to sit. He finally settled on a chair near the head of the bed. He tapped his thigh restlessly and looked anywhere but at her.

That hurt the most, she realized. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, grieving, or simply here out of onerous obligation, but it was clear no matter the reason that he would rather be anywhere else. So she decided to try to move things along, anything to escape feeling like an emotional burden to the man she had loved, did still love, would likely always love.

She opened her mouth, closed it. Cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry,” she croaked out.

His eyes met hers briefly before sliding away. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes, of course!” she exclaimed. When he didn’t respond, she softly added, “Please, believe me. I would have. Planned to. I just… hadn’t figured out how, just yet, and then…”

His fingers of one hand restlessly traced the seam of his robes as she trailed off. She longed to reach out and still his hand with her own, but instead, she stared down at her lap and continued, “I would never have kept your child a secret from you, Severus.”

“I know.” His quiet admission brought both relief and sorrow to Hermione, in equally tumultuous waves.

He finally looked at her, fully. She could feel his stare, as intense and unyielding as ever, as she resolutely continued to study the threads on the edge of her blanket. He cleared his throat and asked, simply, “Are you well?”

_No._

“Yes, the Healer said I would likely be discharged tomorrow morning. This… is not uncommon.”

“Do you need anything?”

_You._

She didn’t answer. She would never go back on her word. Hermione Granger was nothing if not eternally stubborn. And she did mean it, truly, sending him away. She had just hoped that it wouldn’t have had to hurt this much.

More silence.

“Please know…” he started, then trailed off. He cleared his throat. “I trust you know that should you ever require anything from me, you need only inform me. Ever. I – well, that is – please. You must know that I value your… I value you more than anything. Anything.”

He had leaned forward and clasped his restless hands together as he continued to stare at her. His gaze and his tone were pleading, plaintive almost, but pleading for what? She didn’t know, and even if she did, she felt that she wouldn’t know how to give it to him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and it felt inadequate, for it was. She leaned back deeply into her pillows and shut her eyes, suddenly unable to bear the sight of his dark, somber gaze any longer. _It’s all too much_ , she thought wildly, hysterically, her head spinning. _This is all too much. I can’t think about this anymore, I can’t –_

“Sev?” A soft, feminine voice at the doorway interrupted her thoughts. Hermione kept her eyes closed, preferring the comfort of the darkness, of not seeing and therefore, the comfort of pretending not to believe.

“I’ll be right there,” he replied. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his intense stare waiting for something from her, anything. She knew that if she looked at him again, if she saw those eyes silently beg her for something she would not give, she would shatter and never recover. Or she would grasp him to her and never let him go.

“You need to leave.” Whether she spoke it as a command or an entreaty or a simple statement of fact, she herself didn’t know.

A moment later, she heard the rustle of his robes as he stood. He seemed to wait a breath at her bedside, shifting slightly, before turning and joining his companion at the door. She heard them exchange a few murmured words and walk away.

And as their footsteps quickly receded, Hermione found that she could not deny herself one last glimpse of him. With a quick inward breath, she opened her eyes just in time to watch them turn the hallway corner, his dark robes and hair a stark contrast to the long, auburn locks of Lily Potter.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the evil ending. I truly could not get this scene to leave my head though. What did you think? Should I expand on the story? I have a vague idea of a plot, but I would still love to hear your thoughts/speculations. (why is Lily still alive? why are HG and SS not together anymore? how did they get together in the first place?)


End file.
